


Half a Scarab

by laskelleta



Category: StarKid Productions RPF, Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier - Holmes/McMahon/Lang & Lang & Gale
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Forced Marriage, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laskelleta/pseuds/laskelleta
Summary: Three short vignettes from the beginning of Ja'far and Scheherazade's marriage to the end.





	Half a Scarab

At first, she’d been alright with it. She understood. He’d had to go straight back to work, and he was such a busy man. But it had been a month now. A month since they’d married. She was growing impatient. She wanted him and she wanted him now.

She crept up the stairs, stopping right outside his doorway. She listened for a moment. He was writing something. No doubt his land reform bill he’d been working so hard on. She leaned against the wall, still listening to the meticulous scratch of his quill. Then it stopped.

“Scheherazade?”

He knew she was there, so there was no point in pretending she wasn’t. Besides, she had come up here for a reason. Scheherazade stepped into sight, subtly eyeing their bed.

Ja'far's natural smile widened when she came into his view. He loved looking at her. She began to feel a little guilty looking at his innocent face. Did he have any idea what she was thinking about? What preoccupied her everyday thoughts? Was he ever thinking the same?

She realized she hadn’t responded when his smile faltered slightly.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, suddenly concerned.

“No,” she said quickly. “No nothing’s wrong.”

He was becoming slightly confused as another silence followed.

“We haven’t had sex yet.” She said suddenly. The look on his face and his immediately tense posture led her to believe that he had not in fact, been thinking the same thing she had been thinking.

“No...no we haven’t.”

“We should. R-right now.”

Now he was beginning to panic.

“Uh-um. I...don’t think we should.” The look on his wife’s face told him he needed to elaborate. “I’ve just got...so much work to do. I really do need to finish this land reform bill for the sultan.”

His lame excuse confirmed her suspicions. Not only had he noticed they hadn’t been having sex, but he’d been purposely avoiding it.

Scheherazade thought of accepting this but the bubbling in her stomach pushed her on. She wasn’t going to back out so easily.

“Don’t you want me?”

It was actually pretty mean to accuse her husband- whom she knew completely adored her- of such a thing, but she was tired of waiting. It was hard to watch his hurt expression, but she needed to know why.

“Scheherazade, how can you even say such a thing? Of _course_ I want you.”

“Then why won’t you make me yours?”

Ja’far said nothing. She could tell, however, that he was trying. Whatever the reason was, he was obviously struggling with it. Still, she would get it out of him.

“Tell me!”

“I’m trying!”

“Why won’t you make me yours?”

_“I don’t know how!”_

 

There it was.

 

Her husband had avoided making love to her because he’d never made love before. Nice going Scheherazade.

The absolute humiliation she could see in his expression was unbearable, and she had caused it. She had caused the man who practically worshiped her to feel like dirt. To make matters worse, he was out the door before she could say anything or even think to stop him.

Scheherazade found she could not move. How could she even face him when he returned? How could she dare sleep beside him tonight after she had hurt him?

She eventually settled in the living room where she waited anxiously, watching the sky change from a cheerful azure to a deep purple. He would be home soon. He wouldn’t stay out past dark.

Sure enough, a little after seven, she saw his form outside the door. She was close enough that she could hear a nervous breath escape him. He pushed the door open and walked in. They stood quietly for a few moments, neither one knowing who should speak first.

Scheherazade was about to when she was cut off.

“I love you,” He said. “I want to make you happy more than anything else. And I _have_ been thinking about... what you mentioned. It’s been on my mind since we got married. _Before_ , even. And I’ve _wanted_ it!  But,” his fists clenched. “I have been _terrified_ of telling you. I’ve been so...afraid. Of this. Of what you might think of it and what you might think of...me.”

Scheherazade’s heart twisted painfully. She really _had_ hurt him. Not being able to think of anything to say, she threw herself into his arms, silently asking his forgiveness.

She was thankful that he embraced her just as tightly, clutching her form to his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His wife pulled herself away from him, looking almost angry.

“You have no reason to be sorry. I put pressure on you and didn’t even take your feelings into account. I put myself before you and that’s not what marriage is about. It was selfish and I’m sorry.”

“You are not being selfish. What you want is an entirely natural thing and you, as my wife, are entitled to it.”

“I am entitled to nothing! You shouldn’t have to do something just because it’s expected by others. We...we don’t need sex.”

“Scheherazade, it isn’t the lack of interest that’s stopped me. It’s the lack of knowledge.” He very quickly added, “Not that I don’t know what the act entails...I know the basics…I just don’t have the experience.” he quickly found his former shame dissipating. He knew that he shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of his wife. He was actually beginning to feel better now that he was being completely open with her.

“Well...you know, I can teach you. To start, sex is the most natural thing in the world. The cavemen didn’t have books. They just had their instincts. Obviously they figured it out because here we all are. Even so,” she continued. “Technique is developed. It’s not something we dive in already knowing. Let me show you, Ja'far.”

At that, Ja’far, with a newly determined look on his face, gathered her in his arms and carried her up the stairs.

  


Scheherazade and Ja’far pulled away from each other and rolled onto their backs. She was gazing up at the ceiling, breathless. She felt her husband’s hand wander over to hers. She looked over at him, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

She smiled to herself until she noticed the very faint tear that made its way down the side of his face. Or perhaps it was sweat. She reached out to wipe it away and was instantly swept into a crushing embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered against the crook of her neck.

  


* * *

 

 

Things had been very different since the sultan had taken her from him. Now they rarely had a moment alone together.

One day Scheherazade found herself in the library and there he was, scanning the shelves. She had smiled to herself because where else would he be? He’d sensed someone’s presence and turned to see her standing just a few feet away. A genuinely happy smile spread across his face but was replaced with a look of longing. They weren’t allowed to touch each other.

On a very special occasion he had been invited to dine with the sultan and a handful of nobles. They’d been seated across from each other and while neither of them thought it safe to steal a glance, they’d risked playing footsie under the table.

Another time, he’d taken the shortcut to the main hall by cutting through the royal baths. He had almost made it across the entirety of the room, when he backtracked and saw her, quite naked, sitting in the water. He’d seen her body a million times. He used the few moments he had to stare at her face instead. It had been three months since he’d seen her hair let down.

The time stolen from them was unbearable and one night Scheherazade decided that she wasn’t going to play by the sultan’s rules.

 

Ja’far was in his study, working on his latest bill, when he heard a knock on his door. He got up to answer it and was met with a servant. He had seen her before. She was always with Scheherazade.

“Yes,” Ja’far said. “What can I do for you?”

“The kitchen. Tonight at eleven o'clock. You have my full discretion.” She left no room for conversation and disappeared. Ja’far couldn’t believe it. His wife sending her servant to give him secret instructions could only mean one thing.

So he waited.

He waited for four excruciating hours.

At eleven, he scrambled across the room almost desperately, knocking many things over on his way.

The kitchen couldn’t be farther away.

Then again, the further from the sultan and the other viziers, the better.

Finally, he stood before his wife, and although there was always a risk, chances were, nothing was going to get in their way.

  


* * *

 

“Are you the royal vizier?” The young servant asked.

“I am,” Ja’far replied.

“I was told not to say anything… but I had to.”

“What is it?”

“His wife- _your_ wife,”

He felt excitement rising in his chest. Was it to do with the baby?

“Yes! Yes, has she gone into labor?” The servant began to lead him out of the hall, surely to the royal chambers. Could it be that in a few short hours, he would be a father? He was suddenly confused when they took a turn to a more quiet part of the palace. The servant stopped. Panic soon replaced joy, as he realized the servant wasn’t escorting him to his wife. He was escorting him to a private place to continue talking. His stomach twisted when the servant informally placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” He asked, trepidatiously.

“She went into labor early this morning.”

“Is she alright?”

When the servant didn’t answer straight away he bolted back down the hall and raced toward the royal bedchambers. He didn’t care if it was proper. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions. He didn’t even bother knocking, slamming all his weight against the door as he threw it open. There were doctors. Too many. The other women belonging to the Sultan stood in the corner, wailing. Their sister wife lay on the bed in the center of the room.

Ja’far strode to the bedside and felt despair rising in his throat like fire.

She was grey. Her hair clung to her face in a cold sweat. Her eyes were sunken and purple. Someone had closed them after she had died.

Died.

She was dead.

Scheherazade was dead.

 

The servant winced pityingly and tried to block out the sounds of the royal vizier’s anguished cries.


End file.
